Unsteady Footing
by infinite-repeat
Summary: So maybe they got a little drunk. Leslie/Ben


So maybe they got a little drunk.

The night had started out easily enough. It had been a particularly stressful day with the Emergency Budget Task Force, but they had banged out some numbers that Ben was comfortable with for the day. Some people left angry, but that was nothing new and Ben was hardly bothered. He just knew his temples were throbbing and he wanted to get home and sleep and stop seeing so many red numbers.

"Tough day, huh?" drifts Leslie's voice from somewhere beyond his closed eye lids. Sure enough, when he opens them, she's the last person in the room, and the sunset through the window is shining off her "essential" ID, and she's smiling that smile that makes him want to let her build a park.

"Very tough, Ms. Knope," he says, but with a familiar smile when she tilts her head inquisitively. But he knows he has to get a little more serious for a moment. "Listen, Leslie, we're probably going to get to your department tomorrow, and-"

"Beer," she interrupts him, still smiling that smile. Now it's his turn to be confused. "Just, I know what's coming. And I don't want to think about it now, because it feels like the weight of the entire world is on my shoulders and when I think about it, I just see Tom's big eyes or April's... face, and it just upsets me, so. Beer."

Her face has gone through about twenty emotions in the span of that confession, and Ben knows she feels overwhelmed. And, weirdly enough, he feels bad about it.

"Beer," he agrees.

Leslie had wanted to go to the Snakehole, but that place gives him a headache, so he convinced her to go back to the bar from a few weeks ago. It's a quiet little place, and he just wants to relax with a cold one, rather than shout over obnoxious music to be heard.

"No work talk," Leslie asserts as he holds the door open for her, pointing her finger at him for emphasis. But he's pretty sure that policy won't last long; it never really does with Leslie.

Once he's got half of his first beer down, he starts opening up a little more and smiling easier. Leslie's telling some silly story about the Freddy Spaghetti concert two years ago, where Tom had been knocked over by a petting zoo goat and Ron ate three Swansons and fell asleep next to the stage. She even bends her head down to the counter to re-enact, using a napkin as a mustache.

So Ben's pretty sure he likes her. He doesn't know what that exactly means, but he knows she makes him laugh and he likes being around her. She's become something of an ally, since the concert; she's had his back at the budget meetings, and he isn't used to that. Leslie's changed a lot of the things he's used to; he's been called a jerk and an ass before, but nothing as innocent as "Mean Ben." He just... likes her.

He needs another beer.

It isn't long before they end up in a corner booth, nurturing his fourth and her third beer, trading crazy ideas for when they get to the White House someday.

"All hypothetical, of course," she says with a goofy grin; as if owning a pet elephant and making the oval office a trapezoid were serious suggestions. "And if I had kids, they would get the _best damn park ever _in the backyard."

She's been rattling off her presidential plans for a few minutes, and he's mostly been staring at her hair. It suits her, he decides. It's sunny and bright, like her attitude, and it kind of gleams in the low lighting. He's a little transfixed and nearly chokes on a sip of beer when she hits his arm.

"What?" he nearly yells, coughing.

"Sorry. I just asked what your favorite park in the ride is." Her brow furrows, and she shakes her head a bit. "Ride in a park is," she corrects. "I'm thirsty."

"I was always a monkey bars kid," he says, waving at a waiter for another round. It should probably be their last, because Leslie's eyes are sort of glazed over, but one more can't hurt.

"Didn't you fall a lot, Benjy?" she asks, her words mashing together as she wrinkles her nose. "Once, I fell off the monkey bars and thought my wrist was broken. But the doctor said I didn't even fall on that wrist, so... I don't like them."

"I liked climbing on top of them, I think." He actually isn't even sure. It was just the first thing that came to his mind. Monkey bars. His mind flashes back to a lot of skinned knees.

"I liked the swings," she tells him, her hand falling over his arm on the table. Her eyes get kind of wistful when she continues. "They're like flying, or something. I've fallen off a lot of things, but the swings are not... one. Of those things."

He doesn't really remember how it happened, but suddenly there's a few shot glasses littering their table, and Leslie's next to him instead of across. She's laughing at something, or maybe at nothing at all, and her head leans forward and rests against his shoulder for a second.

"You're cute when you laugh," he slurs a bit, without really thinking. He hasn't been thinking much for the past few drinks. "And when you drink." She hides her face in his arm.

"Shuddup," she mumbles against his shirt, but he's pretty sure he can feel her smiling. Then she suddenly pulls her head up and sits straight, and her face is serious. "I'm sorry. About that time I called you a name."

"It's fine-"

"No! But you're Benjy. And you're not mean all the time." She slumps back into his shoulder and doesn't finish her thought. Somewhere in his cloudy mind, he thinks maybe he should take her home. But he doesn't know where she lives, and it doesn't even pass his mind to ask for her address.

"We're going to go for a walk," he says simply, and she claps her hands a little.

"Don't get us mugged!"

They just end up at his hotel, because he doesn't even know how to get anywhere else besides City Hall and the grocery store. And they're definitely stumbling, and he's suddenly hyper-aware of how much she's been leaning into him for support.

"I don't live here," she tells him as they walk through the lobby, like she's just realized where they are. "I could call Ann to get me-"

"It's fine," he says calmly, pulling the room key out of his pocket. "There's a couch, and I'll take you home tomorrow."

She's too tired to put up a fight, intent on rubbing her eyes instead. He's having trouble getting his room unlocked, because it takes hand-eye coordination that he just doesn't have right now. On his third attempt, he has to fully stop and take a deep breath to concentrate. But he ends up looking at her. She's just leaning against the wall, staring at the wallpaper. Her eyes look bigger than usual, and darker. Her cheeks are flushed and she's half-smiling. And he's in way over his head.

He hadn't really paid attention to the fact that his hands started unlocking the door again, so he falls into the room a little before loudly announcing that he'd gotten it open.

"Go Benjy!" she musters, exhausted but still enthusiastic.

He's embarrassed to realize that his room is mostly a mess, but Leslie doesn't seem to really notice. There's some dirty clothes thrown over the half-wall between the couch and the bed, but he's just thankful that there's some kind of separation. Because he isn't really sure what he was thinking, bringing her to his hotel room. But at least he hasn't forced them into sharing a bed.

That could be bad.

He somehow manages to make a bit of coffee in the little hotel pot, wanting to sober them up a bit. It's not even that late at night, only a little past one, and he doesn't want to sleep yet. Leslie dumps at least half of their available sugar into her cup, and by the time she's done with the cream, it looks like she's drinking sugary milk. But her eyes are a little more focused and his mind's clearing up and now he feels like an idiot.

"I don't know why we're here. I mean, I can call a cab for you..." He kind of trails off, because he doesn't actually want her to leave.

"It's a comfy couch," she says with a shrug, smiling that smile. He notices that there's barely an inch of space between them on the couch, but they're both sitting in that way where they're intentionally not touching each other and it's awkward. It's silly. So he puts his arm behind her, against the couch, and breathes a sigh of relief when she almost instantly lays back against it.

They're not really talking, like they were at the bar. They're just kind of sitting and staring, and she keeps moving closer to him. Or is he moving closer to her? He isn't sure. But now her cheek is on his shoulder, and if he tilted down his head in the wrong way, he'd basically be...

Kissing her.

Maybe she started it. Or maybe he did. But mostly he doesn't really care, because his hand is in that gold hair and she's opening her mouth and this is crazy. She tastes like sugar and beer and he feels a little dizzy, but that could just be the alcohol still in his system. His hand starts to move, but just when he touches her hip, she breaks it off.

"I think, maybe, we should go to sleep," she says, not looking at him. They're both breathing heavily, and Ben notices his hands are shaking and the look on Leslie's face says she definitely can't process this right now. He doesn't know if he should feel rejected or what, but he isn't going to fight her on that so he nods.

This bed is suddenly insanely uncomfortable. There's no way he's going to sleep; he can hear her shuffling around a bit on the couch not five feet away. It's been about half an hour, and he's sure that neither of them are sleeping.

God, he just wants to sleep. Maybe this would be better in the morning.

Footsteps. Leslie's walking around, pacing maybe, and he hopes that she isn't leaving. Or should she leave? He doesn't really know if he did something wrong or if she was just surprised or angry or what. He doesn't want to go back to being Mean Ben. He kind of likes being Benjy.

The footsteps are closer, and he feels weight on the mattress.

"Leslie?" She's definitely laying down next to him, now. He rolls onto his side and she's on her side too, looking at him expectantly. Even though it's pitch black in the room, he can see the shine of her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know. Sleeping?"

And she just sounds tired and kind of lost, so he puts his arm around her waist and pulls her a little closer. She's asleep against his shoulder within five minutes.

It would probably be a mess in the morning, but really all Ben wants to do is sleep, and her breathing is maybe the most relaxing thing he's encountered in Pawnee.

So maybe they're a little drunk. But then again, maybe he's just been telling himself that all night.


End file.
